


Sunday in the Park with Lovett

by celli



Series: emjonjon [2]
Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Established Relationship, Multi, Polyamory, Semi-Public Sex, Spanking, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 21:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13221162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/pseuds/celli
Summary: Written for the prompts: “snuggling, anxiety, spanking, love, dates in nature, affection”





	Sunday in the Park with Lovett

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scarletsymphony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletsymphony/gifts).



> thanks to angelsaves for posting assistance! Please stay on this side of the fourth wall and don't share this fic with anyone named in it.

The idea comes to Lovett one Tuesday night in bed. In Jon and Emily’s bed, specifically. The three of them are sprawled across different corners of the bed, panting, Emily’s strap-on and harness still on.

“What are you laughing about?” Emily asks, fumbling for the harness straps.

Lovett reaches over to help her. “Nothing,” he says.

“Ooh, evil laugh _and_ lying,” Jon says. “What do we have to look forward to?”

“Let’s just say you should block Saturday off on your calendar,” Lovett says.

“All day?” Emily asks. “Impressive.”

“Ha ha.” Lovett is thinking fast. “All evening. You can do whatever couple-y stuff you want to the rest of the day.”

“And then that night it’s throuple time?” Jon asks.

“Don’t say ‘throuple,’” Lovett and Emily say at the same time.

“Lovett says it all the time! And I don’t get to?”

“Nope,” Lovett says, nearly synchronized with Emily this time.

***

Lovett spends the next three days in a frenzy of mental lists. Decide on restaurant, buy blanket, turn off sprinklers, pick wine. Is a picnic basket too cheesy or the right cheesy? Where do you buy a goddamn picnic basket in this town? Fried chicken: traditional or too greasy?

“Oh my God, take a breath and Postmates something,” Tommy says when Lovett starts muttering at his laptop again.

Lovett looks around but Jon’s in the other room, talking to Tanya. “I have very specific requirements, Tommy.”

“I expect nothing less of you,” Tommy says. Lovett eyes him but he seems sincere.

“Wait and see, it’ll be perfect,” he says, choosing express shipping on the picnic basket. What’s a few extra...thirty extra dollars on a five hundred dollar basket? And the basket has place settings for four, its own attached blanket, and a cheese knife, for God’s sake. It’ll come in handy all the time.

Now, for wine…

***

“What do you mean, you can’t deliver?” Lovett asks, not in a shriek exactly, but in a rather high-pitched tone. He stops rearranging the place settings on his fancy new blanket and sits back on his knees, clutching the phone.

The guy on the other end doesn’t sound terribly apologetic. “WeHo is _slammed_ tonight, and half my drivers got food poisoning from the company picnic. Which, if you think about it--”

Lovett choose not to think about it. “You’re Postmates,” he says through gritted teeth. “Post someone.”

“The soonest I can get someone to you is forty-five minutes. Might be closer to an hour.”

“My d--dinner is starting in twenty minutes!”

“You can come pick it up?”

Lovett contemplates screaming. “My dinner. Is starting. In twenty minutes,” he repeats.

There’s a long pause. “I don’t know what to tell you, dude,” the guy says.

_“Dude?”_ Lovett asks, in the voice he saves for Republicans and people who try to pet Pundit without asking permission.

Something in his voice must hit home, because the guy says, subdued, “A full refund and a credit for your next order will be applied to your account. We’re sor--”

Lovett hangs up.

He can still do this. He can. Uh, the 7/11 - no. The grocery store - is too far away. “Do you think they’d notice if it was KFC?” he asks the picnic basket. It doesn’t answer.

Fruit, he has fruit for some reason he can’t even remember. And maybe some - some cheese that’s not just American slices? He grabs the basket and stands, heading for the kitchen--

And trips over the blanket. There’s a _crunch_ as he and the picnic basket drop down on top of the place settings.

Lovett just stays still for a second. Maybe if he doesn’t admit it happened, it can go back in time and not happen. He looks down. “For fuck’s sake.” He climbs to his feet carefully, lifts the basket, and stares down at the shards of china scattered across the blanket.

Emily and Jon come through the backyard gate at 5:00 on the dot, dogless - Tommy is dogsitting, that’s one part of this Lovett didn’t fuck up. Lovett is standing in front of the, er, meal, shifting his weight from one heel to the other.

They take in the duvet from Lovett’s bed, the slightly battered basket, the paper plates and wine-filled red plastic cups, the so-called cubes of cheddar (cut around the bad parts), the grapes, and the three sad olives. Lovett winces. Then they turn identical beaming smiles on him, and he blinks at them.

“A picnic!” Emily grabs Jon’s arm and hugs it. “A real picnic!”

Real? Sort of? “An appetizer picnic,” Lovett improvises. “We’re going out for dinner. My treat.” Seriously, holding on to a bad mood in the face of Black-Favreau happiness is about impossible. “Come on, sit down.”

They settle in with the wine - the wine is good too, two things still here from Lovett’s original plan. They each get an olive, and bump them together in lieu of clinking glasses. Emily and Jon feed each other cheese cubes, probably in order to get the rant on heteronormativity from Lovett. And finally, after two cups of wine, Lovett is persuaded to tell the whole sorry story of Postmates, broken china, et al.

“But look at the bounty I provided you!” he says, waving at the last lonely grape, which he then eats to emphasize his point. “Conclusion: don’t let Lovett get ideas, disaster ensues.” He goes up on his knees to grab the wine from behind Emily.

“This is great,” Emily says, just as Jon says, “Knock it off,” and swats at Lovett. Because of the angle, he hits half on the back of Jon’s shorts and half on the side of his thigh. Both Lovett and Jon freeze, staring at each other.

“Oh, _really,”_ Emily says from a long way away.

Lovett lunges at Jon, knocking him to the grass and fastening their mouths together. Jon makes an _mmph_ noise but kisses him back with equal enthusiasm.

They break apart, panting, and both look up at Emily. She’s sitting cross-legged, chin propped on one hand and cup of wine in the other. “Don’t mind me,” she says brightly. “Or do. Whatever gets somebody naked first.”

Jon goes back to kissing Lovett, only stopping to pull his T-shirt off him. He tugs at his own, but Lovett puts out a hand. “Um, don’t,” he says. 

Jon gives him the same delighted grin he had when he saw the picnic. It’s never going to stop making Lovett’s heart twist in his chest. 

The two of them slowly, with lots of pauses for kissing, work the rest of Lovett’s clothes off. Jon does look up once at the height of the fence separating Lovett from his neighbors, and Lovett says, “Trust me, we’re good.”

“Looking forward to that story,” Jon says. But by the time he gets Lovett naked and lying across his jeans-clad legs, nobody is thinking about anything except this. At least Lovett’s not.

Jon rubs his palm over Lovett’s ass, not hard, just...exploratory, and Lovett wiggles around to look up at him. “Green,” he says clearly, and the wrinkle in Jon’s forehead eases.

The first couple of slaps are more pressure than pain, and Lovett takes a long breath in and out. Then Jon brings his hand down hard and Lovett digs his fingers into the grass.

Jon is good at this; Lovett thinks dimly that he and Emily need to debrief in the near future. One good smack catches him low and hard. He hitches in a sob. He feels Jon hesitate and chokes out “Green, green,” with a tear running down his face. Emily runs her hand through his hair and he reaches out to hold it in place. She murmurs at him, all he catches is his name.

“You’re so good - you’re so good at this, Lovett.” Jon’s hand rises and falls again. “You have no idea--” Lovett rubs against Jon’s leg, and Jon’s voice cracks. “Jesus, you have no idea how hot you are.” 

Lovett is flushed and hard, panting and sobbing with alternate breaths, by the time Jon finishes and rubs his hand across his ass again, making him hiss. 

“What do you want, Lovett?” Jon’s hand is a painful but grounding presence on him. “What can I do for you?”

“Put - put your fingers in me,” Lovett says.

“Did we bring lube?” Jon asks Emily.

Lovett shakes his head. “Basket.” See, there’s another thing he did right.

He lets his breath out carefully as Jon works one finger, then two, into him. He’s still tearing up a little, and Emily wipes his face clean. He leans into her hand.

Jon brushes against his prostate once, twice, and that’s it, that’s all Lovett needs to come. He shakes through it, Jon and Emily’s hands holding him in place, and rolls over to flop on the duvet. Oh, shit, ow. He flips over to his stomach.

“Holy shit,” Jon says, breathless.

“I think my ears popped, I came so hard,” Lovett says, and Jon and Emily laugh. He pats Emily’s hand on his head. “Go, go, climb him like a tree, you know you want to.”

“Uh, yeah,” Emily says, and Jon laughs again. Lovett wraps one hand around Jon’s ankle and zones out, listening to Jon’s zipper and Emily’s sigh. Neither of them takes long to come, which Lovett modestly feels like he had something to do with, and then they all lie on the blanket and Jon wraps one arm around each of them.

“How are you doing?” he asks Lovett. “Want me to get some lotion for you?”

“Yeah, in a minute,” Lovett says, scooting closer.

And then, because Lovett lives in a fucking romcom, the sprinklers he never got around to turning off kick in and the three of them screech as cold water hits them. Jon has the presence of mind to grab the duvet and they flee to the safety of the back patio. Fortunately their clothes aren’t too damp.

“Fuck me, that was a disaster,” Lovett says, staring at his new picnic basket under the sprinklers.

“Are you shitting me? It genuinely was not,” Jon says. Emily squeezes Lovett’s hand. Lovett relaxes a little.

“Fine, then,” he says. Next step, KFC.” He whines high in his throat as he pulls his shorts on. “No, next step, lotion. Next _next_ step, KFC.”

Jon and Emily look at each other. “O...kay?” Emily says.

“Fried chicken, KFC, we’re going, end of ad, ” Lovett says and stomps into the house. He can hear Jon snicker behind him, but both he and Emily follow, which is the only important part.


End file.
